


Tokens of Affection

by myleftsock



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Compliant, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Prompt Fill, Rivals to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26783665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myleftsock/pseuds/myleftsock
Summary: Every time Lorenz launches into a lecture, Claude shuts him up with a kiss. It works a little too well.
Relationships: Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 20
Kudos: 110
Collections: FE3H Kink Meme





	Tokens of Affection

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for this [lovely kinkmeme prompt](https://3houseskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1608.html?thread=3256904#cmt3256904): Nothing stops Lorenz when he starts nagging/lecturing Claude on his behaviour/nobility/the Alliance’s future, blah blah yadda yadda, and Claude is tired of wasting energy escaping him. So he comes up with another brilliant scheme: every time Lorenz starts lecturing, he kisses him. Then makes a quick getaway while Gloucester’s brain short circuits.
> 
> But is it just him or has Lorenz been scolding him even more than usual lately...?

“Claude!”

Not again.

“Claude, I must speak with you about your behavior in class today!”

Claude debates taking wider strides down the courtyard, but Lorenz’s legs are longer than his and if there’s one thing Claude’s learned at the Officer’s Academy, it’s that he can’t hide from Lorenz.

He pastes a placating smile on his face and whips around, so abruptly he barely gets his arms up in time to stop Lorenz from crashing into him. Whoa—Lorenz can cover even more ground than Claude realized. All the more reason to keep an eye on him.

Lorenz dusts his shoulders off daintily like he meant to do that, and Claude recovers his cool. “How can I help you, Lorenz?”

“Well, that’s a loaded question. But as we only have so much time in the day, I will limit myself to my most pressing concern.” 

Oh, boy. “I’m all ears.”

Lorenz nods. “Your casual manner in class is entirely inappropriate for the future leader of the Leicester Alliance! The proper way to address a professor is just that: Professor. Not ‘Teach.’ And when you are asked to complete a task, the response is ‘Yes, Professor,’ not ‘yeah,’ or ‘you got it,’ or whatever jargon common youths spout in the less savory parts of the marketplace.”

“Youths, huh?” Claude really needn’t have stopped; he should have seen this coming from acres away. “You do realize we’re basically the same age, right? You might even say we’re youths."

“Nonsense. Nobles are not afforded the privilege of such frivolity.” Lorenz shakes his head, like he’s taken on a grim and terrible burden in lecturing Claude. “I thought it one of your _jokes_ ”—he spits the word like it tastes bad—“but you are indeed lucky that I am gracious enough to instruct you on these matters.”

“Oh?” Claude raises an eyebrow, and Lorenz’s eyes flick up to watch it. “Does this mean you’re giving up on reclaiming your rightful place?”

Lorenz’s eyes bulge. “Certainly not!” And they both know it. It’s just fun to get him all riled up. “But I will not have you tarnishing the position in my absence. Why, your posture alone could cause a severe drop in reputation!” 

All of this Claude could have expected, but what he doesn’t expect is for Lorenz to yank his shoulders back and push his rear in. Sure, his posture improves, but the ghost of Lorenz’s touch lingers long after his hands are gone.

Especially that palm to his ass. 

“And we must work on your elocution, though I’m afraid that is a matter we cannot solve in one night. It’s all in the tongue…”

Lorenz goes on and on, but Claude can’t stop thinking about his hands. Lorenz talks with them: a flourish here, a sweep there. They’re elegant, and surprisingly strong. Lorenz is good with a lance to be sure, but given those shoves, he’d make a decent grappler. He practically hit Claude’s ass hard enough to leave a mark. 

“... _no cloud dares shroud the proud House Gloucester._ Now you say it.” 

Claude has no idea what he’s talking about. “I’m not saying that.”

“Now, now, there’s no need to be ashamed. It’s quite simple. You need only watch my lips.”

He repeats the strange statement and Claude can’t help but obey (not the repeating part, but watching his lips). The funny thing about Lorenz is he actually believes he’s helping. Sure, Claude can’t trust him as far as he can throw him, but he’s sincere. Always upfront about his motives. Not that he could hide anything if he tried. His eyes—which are such a weird color, Claude can’t get used them to no matter how long he stares at them—give away his every emotion. 

And his lips are…a desirable shape among nobility, Claude suspects, thin and delicate, with a sharp bow at the top. They’re still moving but nothing of any use is coming out. 

_ Blah-blah decorum, blah-blah propriety, blah-blah are you listening to me, Claude? _

This could go on all day. Lorenz’s candor is admirable, but Claude’s always had better luck with misdirection. An idea possesses him—one he’s never considered before, all because of those fine flapping lips. It’s a shame that he has to resort to tricks, but this one might be fun. 

“So you see, it’s a simple matter of—”

Claude darts in and pecks him on the mouth. He catches some mid-sentence tooth but Lorenz’s lips are surprisingly soft. Best of all, they fall silent. 

Grinning, Claude pulls back and waves. “See you later, Lorenz!” 

He takes off in a jog, and for once, Lorenz does not follow. Mouth agape, he simply stands there, frozen in place. Claude celebrates with a grin, lips tingling with the thrill of victory.

~ * ~

It works even better than Claude hoped. For weeks, Lorenz ignores him, looking away every time their eyes happen to meet. When Claude listens in on significant conversations, Lorenz isn’t breathing over his shoulder, uncomfortably close, pretending it’s an accident. 

It’s almost too easy without his shadow. Claude leans against a pillar, bored. The guards aren’t even saying anything interesting, nothing he didn’t already know, and he kicks up a bit of loose stone just to give himself something to do. 

“Are you trying to get caught?” hisses a familiar voice. 

Claude looks high and low, eyes finally landing on sleek purple hair glinting behind a bush. Wow, he must be losing his touch if Lorenz snuck up on him. He shakes it off. “Good morning, Lorenz. Been a while.”

“Indeed.” Lorenz pops up like a weed. “That was fruitless, anyhow. I’m disappointed in you.”

The guards move along and Claude gives Lorenz his full attention and a shrug. “You win some, you lose some.”

“One would think you would be more selective in how you spend your time. It is not a limitless resource, after all.”

“You’re the one stalking me.”

“Monitoring you,” Lorenz corrects him. “I sought you out because you have been neglecting your training. You were absent from the last three sessions.”

Claude shoots him a coy smile, just to see if it makes him squirm. It doesn’t. “Aww, Lorenz. Did you miss me?”

“Please.” Lorenz tosses his knife-sharp bangs. “I assure you, it is not personal. My concern is purely for the future of the Leicester Alliance. I assumed you were missing training for a worthy endeavor, but eavesdropping on the idle gossip of low-ranking guards is hardly critical.”

He’s not wrong, and that haughty look in his eyes grates at Claude like nails on a chalkboard, but Lorenz doesn’t have to know that.

“If it’s so trivial, then why did you follow me?”

How someone can manage to breathe condescendingly is beyond Claude, but that little puff of air from Lorenz’s lips is definitely judging him. “That is none of your business! My motives are my own, and I owe you no explanation.”

“Oh, but I owe you one?”

“That’s—need I remind you that you missed our class training session? Why, what if the professor herself sent me here?” 

“Did she?” Claude asks. That dusting of red over Lorenz’s cheeks makes up for everything.

“She—she did notice your absence, so I took it upon myself to find you.”

“How admirable!” Claude claps a hand to Lorenz’s outstretched arm—he’s talking with his hands again—and Lorenz glares at it like it’s a weapon. “Always going above and beyond the call of duty, like a good noble should. Gosh, if only I could follow the example you set.”

“There’s”—Lorenz clears his throat and shakes his arm free—“no reason to doubt yourself!”

Claude’s chest feels lighter. He has Lorenz now.

“You are not lacking intellect, after all,” Lorenz continues. “And while I do not find you fit to rule a study group, let alone a kingdom, you have sufficient talent for strategy. And—”

“And I’m a damn good kisser.”

Before Lorenz can react, Claude kisses him again. This kiss lasts longer, long enough for Claude to move his lips against Lorenz’s, daring him to escalate.

He doesn’t. But he does smell of Almyran tea—a strange choice for Lorenz.

Chuckling to himself, Claude tears away. Lorenz doesn’t pursue, but the warm, woodsy scent of pine needles follows Claude back to his room.

~ * ~

The very next day, Lorenz corners Claude at breakfast to lecture him about Leicester lords, as if Claude isn’t privy to all that information and then some (although he had no idea the Margrave Edmund prefers sherry to brandy—he files the information away just in case). 

When Lorenz launches into a speech about the Baron Albrecht’s cat, Claude grabs him by the collar for another kiss. Maybe it’s his imagination, but he swears a sigh passes through Lorenz’s parted lips as he pulls away. Claude leaves, like every other time, but his heart beats faster than his short jog merits.

He’s only a little surprised when Lorenz sits down next to him that evening at dinner.

“You have a stain on your uniform.” Lorenz says it as if someone’s been murdered in front of him. “Is it not enough to make a mockery of the Officer’s Academy with that brazen cape? It is far too short to command the respect a goatee leader is owed.”

He ruffles the fabric and the hairs at the back of Claude’s neck stand on end. “And I suppose your rose is standard issue?”

“The rose is simply an accessory! A mark of my elegance and taste, not a gaudy show of bravado. And one never knows when a lady of suitable breeding may be in need of a token of affection from a noble suitor such as myself.”

Claude can’t help but laugh. Memories of blushes and stolen kisses spring to mind and warmth blooms in his chest. It must be the soup. “A lady, huh?” 

“Certainly.” Lorenz coughs, and it’s the closest he’s ever come to acknowledging Claude’s, er, tactics. “It is of the utmost importance that I find a noble maiden so that the venerable Gloucester bloodline may flourish for generations to come! This is essential for House Riegan as well, as I’m sure you understand.” 

Ah. Perhaps this is his way of telling Claude their little game is just that. As if Claude needs reminding. He didn’t come to Garreg Mach to find a wife (or a husband), and the whole point of the kissing is to earn himself a few moments of peace without Lorenz in his business. 

And Lorenz is smart enough to know that. So why does he keep droning on? 

“Do you not feel the pressure to produce progeny of proper pedigree?” 

Claude smirks in spite of himself. “Say that three times fast.”

“I beg your pardon?” 

Ah, Lorenz is too easy. His lips pucker like he’s sucking on a lemon—the joke must have just dawned on him—and Claude wants to kiss them soft and pliant. 

To tease him. No other reason. 

“It is our duty to pass down our Crests. That noble burden is just as important as governing our land and ensuring peace. You have much to learn, Claude von Riegan, and I, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, will…”

He’s still talking. To be honest, Claude doesn’t think about passing down his Crest. He’s focused on a much bigger picture, at least most of the time. Right now he can’t stop thinking about ways to shut Lorenz up  _ without _ kissing him. He could spoon some stew in his mouth, or maybe just shove his fingers in there…

Claude shivers and banishes that impulse deep in the recesses of his brain. 

“...a clear lack of understanding of your significance…”

Is it Claude’s imagination or is Lorenz scooting closer? 

“...even after I reclaim my rightful place as the future leader of the Alliance, you will…”

He’s definitely getting closer, so close the scent of his rose overtakes even the spicy stew, and now he’s talking in circles. There’s no way he’s doing this on purpose, especially not in the middle of the dining hall. Right?

It calls for an experiment. 

Claude stands, and Lorenz falls silent. A promising start. 

“You know, Lorenz, you’re right. I’m going to go think long and hard about Crest breeding. Maybe talk to Linhardt, or Sylvain. I hear he knows all about it. I’ll see you around!” 

He makes for the door and a piercing screech cuts through the room. Everyone turns to Lorenz—he stood up so fast his chair scraped the floor. Probably damaged the wood. Fascinating. 

Claude continues on his way, not at all surprised by the footsteps behind him. They make it out of the dining hall before Lorenz calls his name.

“Do not run away from me!”

“Why not?” Claude spins around, not bothering to hide his triumphant smile as Lorenz stops merely a hair’s breadth away. He’s warm, and Claude’s heartbeat quickens. From the brisk walk. He doesn’t let on. “What exactly do you want, Lorenz?”

Lorenz takes a shuddering, shallow breath, like he’s not sure what to do with himself now that he’s in Claude’s space. He blinks his long eyelashes. “I...merely wish to implore you to…”

“Distract you from your noble burdens?” Claude lowers his voice, and Lorenz seems unable or unwilling to reply. He’s almost demure: eyelids low, a far cry from his usual proud, defiant stance. It’s...diverting. 

Claude takes a chance. He steps forward, Lorenz steps back. They dance that dance until Lorenz’s back hits the wall, and he raises his chin. Claude’s never been intimidated by Lorenz’s height, nor his confidence. Quite the opposite. Lorenz isn’t even talking, so there’s no need to shut him up, but all Claude can think about is seeing that shy look again. 

He presses his palm to the cool stone next to Lorenz’s head. Lorenz’s eyes go wide. That’s not a bad look, either. His cheeks are flushed, lips parted, so...so…

For the first time, Claude surges up to silence his own thoughts. Their lips meet, and this time, Lorenz kisses him back. 

Claude braces him to the wall, like Lorenz’s chest is the only thing that can contain his pounding heart. There’s an urgent rush of heat between them, one Claude doesn’t fully understand but doesn’t intend to waste. He traces the seam of Lorenz’s thin lips with his tongue and Lorenz yields, going pliant, almost limp. On instinct, Claude grasps his hip to steady him, planting his own feet firmly on the ground. His brain is humming, because if he thinks, he’ll stop, and then they’ll realize what a truly terrible idea this is. 

Lorenz gets there faster. He wedges a hand between them and pushes Claude back, parting their lips with a soft smack.

Slowly, Claude opens his eyes. He’s warm, a little dizzy, and Lorenz? Lorenz looks terrified. 

He ducks out of Claude’s arms and takes off in a run, leaving Claude in a fog for a switch.

If it’s just a game, why is Lorenz so scared? 

And if it’s just a game, why is Claude’s heart pounding so hard?

~ * ~

They don’t kiss again. They settle into equilibrium like it never happened. Claude gathers information and Lorenz follows him around, albeit at a safer distance. But as the war escalates and their uneasy truce becomes a tentative sense of trust, one thing becomes clear: they’re working toward the same end. 

And when that end comes to pass and Claude sees fit to vanish, Lorenz finds him once more.

“Off to Almyra?”

Claude smiles, glancing over his shoulder to find Lorenz standing in his doorway. There’s no reason to hang around any longer, because all the preparations have been made. All except for this. “Nothing slips past you.” 

“Indeed,” says Lorenz, his eyes focused on something distant. “Although, these past few years have taught me that I must let certain things go.”

“Oh?” Claude turns to face him. “Like what?”

Lorenz steps closer, close enough to tuck a strand of hair behind Claude’s ear, then presses a gentle kiss to his lips. It feels like a goodbye, and in that moment, Claude understands. Lorenz has shed his pride. 

He pulls back a fraction. Claude makes it up to him.

They’re both better at it this time, lips moving in slow, steady unison, like the plan they forged together. Only after Claude threads his fingers into Lorenz’s hair does he realize how long he’s wanted to. And only when Lorenz’s fingers curl at Claude’s back, nails scraping his skin through his shirt, does he realize how many chances they missed.

The kiss doesn’t escalate. It could—oh, how easily Claude could lower Lorenz to the bed and make love to him—but that’s not the plan. 

They know their roles, and they let each other go.

But it’s not all sad.

“It’s not forever.”

“I know.” Lorenz is curt, almost snippy. Just like old times. It’s going to be strange, being so far away from his watchful eye. Strange not to watch him. 

“Well then.” It’s hard not to tease him, harder still not to ask or beg him to write. But Lorenz is quite the poet, and something tells Claude he won’t be able to resist the temptation. “Until we meet again.”

Lorenz nods. “Until then.” 

“No flowery declaration?” Claude feigns a pout. “I’m disappointed.” 

A little smile twists Lorenz’s lips. “There is no need.”

And when Claude takes to the skies, he discovers why. Tucked into his cloak is a single red rose. A token of affection from a noble suitor.

Claude dries it, presses it, and keeps it until they meet again. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was a blast to write, and my first time writing Claude's POV! Thanks so much to OP for the wonderful prompt, and I hope you enjoyed the fic!


End file.
